Heathens
by The Brother Anton
Summary: RE-UPLOAD: AU Prequel to Hellacious. Tetsuhiro trudges through his life in a monastery, but everything changes when a demon is found wandering about the holy grounds.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello, readers. Probably not what you expected as a first page, I know, but I feel it's necessary to include this author's note.**

 **Whether you're returning or new, the message is the same, and I plan on putting this at the beginning of all of my re-uploads. I was once really active on here and had way more fics than what I currently do, but for personal reasons I deleted all of my works and closed my account for about a year. I do feel bad that I deleted everything, though, so even if I don't plan on being extremely active on here again, I still feel like I should give you all something.**

 **That something are these: the fics that I deleted. I didn't save the little ones, but I did keep my long AU's, for which I was greatly known.**

 **This AU was supposed to be a stand-alone, and I was trying to rush through it, so it's not the greatest, but it ended up being the prequel to Hellacious, the largest AU that I had. You don't _have_ to read this before reading Hellacious, but it helps to have some context before jumping straight in.**

 **This is just a straight copy-and-paste of the original story, so if there are typos or inconsistencies, that's why.**

 **Hope you enjoy.**

 **~Anton**


	2. Chapter 2

A unanimous "amen" ceased the session of prayer for midnight, and all holy men shuffled their ways out of their pews. Firelight illuminated the stone pathway that connected the church to the rooms of the monks. Unlike most monasteries, this one, called Nagyo, offered both theological and intellectual teachings to the men, all of whom came from some type of wealth.

Among these well-to-do holy men walked one of twenty-three by the name of Tetsuhiro. Off of his tall form hung robes of white, dark blue, and red, and a short, circular hat of the same colors covered his bluish-black hair. About his neck hung a necklace of golden beads, and a cross hung from the end, right above his navel. Beneath his arm rested a holy book, between the pages of which rested a bookmark of golden fabric.

Within his mind swirled verses and proverbs that had been ingrained deeply into his head for the past few months. Never in his life had he considered becoming a man of cloth, yet it hadn't been nearly as terrible as he'd initially expected. Of his own free will, he had not come here. Rather, he'd been sent here by his family to "deter him from straying from a good path," which was another way of saying, "Your interest in celebration and sybaritism is of concern to the Morinaga name."

Did he feel a tad hurt from this? Well, of course. He'd essentially been abandoned by his family. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a bit of relief, as horrible as that sounded—his family had never been the most loving bunch. Even if it was just a type of spiritual love, his fellow holy men had served as a substitute family, similar to a group of multiple brothers and fathers that had no relation to him.

Into the communal building he entered, and up a staircase of stone he traveled, until he reached the room that had served as his home for the past six months. Within resided simplistic elements: a desk with chair, small bed, and a lectern that would hold their holy books. Above the bed and desk hung crosses.

After closing the door—locking it was not a possibility, nor was it smiled upon—he placed the book upon the lectern and seated himself in the chair. Lord, the night was a biting one. Winter approached slowly but steadily; he'd have to don his thicker robes soon enough.

With a sigh, he withdrew a sheet of paper from a drawer and dipped a quill into a well of ink. Upon the paper's surface he scratched the happenings of his day, just as he did for each night. At times, this was the one thing that truly kept him sane. Even if it was a tad looser than most monasteries, it was still a place of limited pleasures. Granted, writing hadn't been a central interest of his for most of his life, but he'd learned to appreciate and hone his skill over his days here.

Once that had finished, he slid away the sheet, stripped himself to nightclothes, and slipped into bed. Eight hours of night passed, and he awoke the next day, when he donned another set of robes, said a short prayer of thanks for another day alive, took his volume, and left to join the community for the morning meal.

Whence he reached the bottom of the stairs, an older monk led him into the courtyard that separated the communal building from the church, within which was a crowd of fellow monks who whispered and murmured. Beastly shouting met his ears, and when he reached the front, an even beastlier creature met his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Rope around his wrists put him at the mercy of two older monks, each holding one wrist, yet that did not cease his thrashing. Rawness lined the pale skin beneath the ropes. His taupe hair spilled over him in ratty waves, and his mildly athletic body was covered in cuts and bruises. His eyes glowed a bright orange color. His screaming mouth hung open to reveal sharpened canines, and words that spewed forth were unrecognizable to their ears.

A hand placed itself on Tetsuhiro's shoulder, and he looked down to view another monk about his age with gingery hair.

"What is this?" Tetsuhiro asked.

"Well...I'm not sure," the ginger, Hiroto, said. "We found him drinking from one of the wells a short time ago, and he started screaming and spasming when one of the elders attempted to touch him."

Tetsuhiro gazed at the raving creature, now frothing at the mouth. Upon closer inspection, something did catch his eye—upon his chest were red slashes that formed a massive star. A mark of evil—a demon's mark.

"Attention, all!" shouted the monk that held his left wrist. "A creature of damnation has set its feet upon our holy land! He has been tainted by evil and sin, and he has drunken from the well that has served us with nourishment that has come from God. This well must be blessed, and done so in quick repetition, until proper release of pestilence has occurred."

"May God have mercy on us all," spoke the masses; Tetsuhiro simply stared at the struggling demon. After the words had left their lips, it released yet another scream that could curdle even the thinnest of blood. He couldn't help but feel dreadful for the beast, even if it had been born from sin.

"However," the monk continued, "the demon itself shall not be expelled nor expunged from this place."

Murmurs circulated about the holy men, but not of prayer. No, these were words of confusion and even affront.

"We are aware of how shocking this sounds," spoke the second. "However, allow your minds to dwell upon what good this could do for our establishment. It will be kept for study, locked away far out of reach from our souls. From it we shall learn the ways of the heathen kind, and we shall multiply our effectiveness against their evil tenfold after!"

"Praise the righteous and condemn the faithless," they all recited, "yet use one to pass equitable judgment upon the other."

"Indeed, this is the word our Lord has bequeathed unto us," said the first. "That being said, one soul is needed to watch over this wretched creature. It will take a strong soul, one so staunch in belief in our Lord that he shall not be poisoned by its wicked tendrils. Is there any so willing among us, ask we?"

Almost immediately, Tetsuhiro proclaimed, "I shall."

Upon him looked the entire lot of them, seemingly forgetting the screaming beast that thrashed among them.

"You so eagerly take this role as yours? Even if it is such a lofty task? Your age is still quite low, Brother."

"My years may be low, but it belies the strength of my soul," he said. "If none shall take my place, then I shall gladly accept this task as my own."

In truth, he did not do this out of good will—not wholly, anyway. No, he just wanted a break from the monotony of prayer, work, and sleep. Not only that, but tales and studies of the demonic intrigued him greatly. Sometime near, he'd need to shift his studies to exorcism. That was the only "practical" skill he'd glean from this place.

"He does not falsify his image," Hiroto supported. "I've seen his resolve firsthand. He will not fall easily to anything, especially not a filthy demon."

"Perhaps we should allow him to do so," the second monk said to the first. "He is not experienced, but his youth provides him with a vigor unmatched by the elders."

"Indeed, you speak true," the first agreed. "It is decided, then, that Brother Tetsuhiro shall have control over the treatment and study of the heathen beast."

Never before had he wanted to praise God so strongly!


	4. Chapter 4

Deep beneath the candlelit halls and the religiously-decorated rooms of the Nagyo Monastery lay a far more sinister area, characterized by a darkness that was not only physical. In the past, there had been incidents of some...interactions among the Brothers and Fathers involving sodomy. Whence they'd been discovered, they'd been sent here, into what was colloquially called the Pit of Dismay, to be purged of all evil—staunchly it was believed that demons had manipulated their actions—through flogging, fasting, and fastidious prayer. On occasions, those being treated were better because of them, but in majority cases, they were never heard from again, yet their souls had been guaranteed a place in Heaven's wide embrace.

Within the pits were three rooms, and within one of these rooms hung the demon. Above its head were its arms, which hung from the ceiling by rope-bound wrists. It had been provided with a simple robe and underclothes, yet they did not hang off of its body.

Into the Pit entered the young monk, a holy book and notebook in his hand and about ten different charms hung from his body.

"May grace shield my body from sin," he murmured quietly. After an exhalation, he approached the hanging demon. Its head faced the floor, and it did not scream. "Ah...are you awake?"

He reached out to touch the demon's shoulder, and it jolted into stiffness once more. Its teeth were bared, and its eyes burned with rage. Tetsuhiro took a step back, and he swallowed. Even restrained, its presence was rather menacing.

After clearing his throat, Tetsuhiro seated himself at a small table against the wall and opened his notebook. A quill and inkwell he withdrew from his robe, and he poised the utensil atop a clean page.

 _Day I of Study_

 _The demon is subdued, it seems, but not receptive, either. Due to physicality, I shall refer to the demon as a "he."_

He looked up to the beast, which scowled at him. "Can you speak?"

It continued staring.

Tetsuhiro opened his hand before his mouth to mime the action. "Speak…?"

More stares.

"Can you understand me?"

It stared, and it did so for a long time, but after what seemed like minutes, it finally gave a slow, hateful nod. Tetsuhiro sighed.

"What a relief. I'm not proficient in the religious language as of yet. But you cannot speak, yes?"

A soft but strong growl drifted from its throat.

"I...shall assume that is a 'yes,'" Tetsuhiro mumbled.

 _He knows of the words that I speak to him, yet he does not seem able to form any of his own. He possesses the Devil's Mark upon his chest, and though large, it does not appear deep. He is not a long-winded demon, yet he has not just fallen from humanity. He was found drinking from a well this morn, signaling desperation. Due to the other injuries upon his body, I assume that he has been through rough experiences prior to his arrival here._

The monk rose from his seat to stand before the demon, whose gaze had grown even more hateful. A gentle smile appeared on Tetsuhiro's face.

"I know that this is quite a jarring experience," he said. "However, I do not plan on hurting you. Here, you will be kept, but you will not be harmed. That is, as long as you do not harm anyone else in return."

The demon stiffened a bit, and his gaze seemed to crack just a tad. That wasn't hate in his eyes—it was fear. Now that he stood right before the demon, he did have a rather...human air about him. He didn't seem much older than Tetsuhiro, perhaps by only two years or so. Demons had all once been human, and the fresher, "purer" ones maintained human characteristics for longer. He couldn't have been a demon for long.

"I understand your fear, but this is the only fate keeping you from death. I promise, I mean you no ill will."

He did not relax. If anything, he stiffened further.

"Here," Tetsuhiro said. "Allow me to prove my intentions."

Reaching up, he untied the ropes that bound the demon's wrists together. He landed on his feet with a light thud, and while his body was still stiff, his gaze had softened a tad. Tetsuhiro's smile grew wider.

"You see, now, don't you?" Tetsuhiro whispered. "I'm not here to harm you. I only want to study you." He looked over his shoulder. "Lord forgive me for saying this to you, but I'm not wholly fond of a religious life. If I'd had more independence from my family, I'd be spending my time attending parties, not prayer sessions. Though, now that something interesting has entered my life, I am a tad more persuaded to stay."

The demon nodded, but his eyes did not meet Tetsuhiro's. Instead, they lingered on the notebook. Tetsuhiro followed his stare.

"What is it?" he asked.

Swiftly, the demon grabbed the book and quill. He scratched markings upon the page, then held it up for Tetsuhiro to see.

 _My writing is no strong. I remember much not. Souichi was called I. Demon became five year since here._

It took him a moment, then Tetsuhiro mumbled, "Demon for five years, vaguely remembers how to write...and you were called Souichi?"

The demon nodded.

"Excellent to know…well, Souichi, I am Tetsuhiro. I hope that our experiences together can be relatively pleasurable."


	5. Chapter 5

Regrettably, his hopes were mostly dashed.

While he hadn't raved or thrashed once since being cast into the Pit, the demon had acted akin to a petulant toddler. When Tetsuhiro offered him robes, he tore at them with his nails until nothing but scraps remained. When offered food, he refused, though he did imbibe on wine without any restraint. When Tetsuhiro attempted to draw near, he lashed out and spat at him. All of this, the monk recorded in his journal.

"Why is it that you refuse clothing?" the holy man asked. "Is it not common among demons?"

Currently, Souichi crouched in the corner of the room, picking at the dirt beneath his fingertips. He glanced up when Tetsuhiro asked his question, shrugged, and returned to his fingers.

The monk sighed and tapped the tip of his quill onto the table. "What have I done wrong, dare I ask? Have I affronted you?"

The demon scowled, then crooked his finger. Stiffly, Tetsuhiro rose from his seat and approached him. Once he stood above, he had to take a step away. A stench far greater than putrid assaulted his olfactory senses, and a gag spasmed in his throat.

"Good Lord, what is that?"

Souichi pointed to himself, then gestured to his entire body. Now that he looked, Tetsuhiro did notice a darker, dustier quality to his skin. And that stench…

"You need to bathe," he said.

Vehemently, the demon nodded.

"Ah...there is a washroom down here…come with me."

His scowl receded just a bit, and he stood from the floor. The Devil's Mark upon his chest dripped a grotesque red-black liquid, and the skin seemed more raw than it had been previously.

"What is that?" Tetsuhiro asked, pointing to his chest.

Souichi looked down and scooped some of it up with his finger. He shook his head.

"Once you're clean, we'll discuss this more. I can't stand to be around you much longer. In a small space such as this, I'll surely suffocate. Come, come, and quickly."

Out the Pit they went, and through the halls they traveled. While they walked, Tetsuhiro kept his hand around the largest cross that hung from his neck. If the demon attempted to escape, having this hit his skin would subdue him, at least for a time. What abilities he possessed, Tetsuhiro did not know, but by no means did he seem weak. At least, not in resolve.

Since Tetsuhiro needed to keep an eye on the demon in his care, he'd shifted his living space to a caretaker's room that resided a few doors away from Souichi. Adjacent to that room was a tiny washroom with a toilet and wash basin. A few of the younger boys delivered heated water to Tetsuhiro daily, and those buckets had arrived about half an hour prior. He filled the basin about halfway.

"Go ahead," he told the demon. "Step in."

With a hesitant foot, he tested the water. A moment later, he stepped into the basin, and after another moment, he sat. Instantly, the water shifted to a very light brown.

Though he had no intention of relieving himself, the monk seated himself upon the toilet, notebook and quill in possession. "There's a rag and soap to the right of you. I apologize if you'd desired privacy. I simply cannot leave you alone."

The demon made a soft noise, then grabbed the items of which he'd spoken. The monk watched as Souichi cleansed himself, paying close attention to the liquid that dripped from the Devil's Mark. The demon did the same, aggressively washing until the mark turned raw. By the time he'd finished, half of the cloth had disintegrated from the black-and-red goo. Tetsuhiro had to focus on his journal to keep himself from retching.

 _One week following his arrival, the demon bathes for the first time in a time period that only the Lord knows. From his Devil's Mark oozed a liquid that smelled of rotted flesh. What it is, I do not know, and he may or may not know, either._

The water splashed about, and Tetsuhiro looked up. The demon had risen, and he currently stepped out. Replicating his movements, the monk grabbed a towel from the wall and stood before him.

"Allow me," Tetsuhiro offered. Though visibly bothered, Souichi did not struggle, and Tetsuhiro proceeded to dry him. He started from the bottom, and once he draped the cloth over the demon's shoulders, he had to pause. Now that he was clean, something was brought to his attention that would have otherwise gone unnoticed. Save for the ugly mark marring his chest, he was rather beautiful. His body was toned yet somewhat small, and though sharp, his features possessed an innocent youthfulness to them.

A fold smile appeared on Tetsuhiro's face, and his hands lingered on the demon's shoulders. In his chest, his heart thrummed just a bit harder.

Blinking a few times, Tetsuhiro stepped back. "Ah...apologies. I was just...lost in thought…shall we return?"


	6. Chapter 6

_It was a momentary event_ , he'd thought. _Just a fluke, surely. Nothing more than that. He's a demon. I'm a human, a follower of God, at that. Well...my follow is a tad distant, I suppose…_

Those were the thoughts of the young monk, yet _oh_ , how incorrect they proved to be. He'd remained as from the demon as their relationship would allow, both in physical distance and speech.

Still, there were times when he needed to draw near to the demon, and at those times, he knew that Souichi had noticed his shift in mood. What made it dangerous, however, was how he reacted. His gestures were small, yet they were definitely ones of concern. Little brushes of his fingers, softness in his eyes, extra compliance—all of it stirring up emotions within Tetsuhiro that he'd never felt before.

All of which had led them to the current.

At the foot of the bed lay his open notebook, currently soaking in liquid that had spilled from the fallen inkwell. The necklaces and bracelets usually upon Tetsuhiro's body lay scattered across the floor, along with his two layers of robes.

The monk's bare back sported a smattering of scratches, half of which bled while the other half throbbed. Also throbbin was his member, currently burrowed deep inside the bottom of his demonic subject. Their lips were strongly connected, and their tongues danced a quick yet passionate dance with one another. Tetsuhiro plunged in and out of the demon with force he hadn't imagined possible. With each movement he made, each collision with Souichi's internal pleasure spot, a wave of fire engulfed his heart, washed away, and was supplanted by another. Grunts and moans formed a symphony of harmonious arousal.

Abruptly, Tetsuhiro pulled away from the demon's lips in favor of his neck. Already love bites dotted the surface, but that was nowhere near satisfying enough for him. No, he wanted to cover it, to completely mark his neck—no, his _entire body_ —as evidence of ownership.

Sure, he'd lusted for men in the past. That was what had gotten him thrown into the monastery in the first place. But the demon...he existed on a completely different plane of existence.

Everything about him was lovely. The blush on his cheeks, the noises from his lips, the desperation in his eyes—all of it was beautiful. Wonderful. _His_.

Tetsuhiro's teeth loosed blood onto the demon's neck, yet the metallic tang had never tasted sweeter in his life. When his teeth-marks had been sufficiently ingrained in Souichi's skin, Tetsuhiro ran his tongue up to his slightly-pointed ear.

The demon's back arched, and an off-white liquid splattered onto Tetsuhiro's abdomen. At that moment, his heart burst, and so did his member. Deeply the monk's seed planted itself into the demon's bottom. Shouts of equal caliber spewed from their throats as climax enveloped them.

And the arms of God slowly loosened their hold on the monk.


	7. Chapter 7

In his hand, the monk grasped the chain of his main cross necklace as if it would save his life. His fist rested against his forehead, and his eyes were closed.

"Lord, forgive me," he murmured softly, "for I have sinned."

His lips began to form the rest of the prayer, but he couldn't bring himself to finish. With a soft growl, he tossed the necklace away and placed his head in his hands.

It was wrong. All his life, he'd been told that it was wrong to do the one thing he wanted the most: love others of his kind. Now that he resided within the monastery, any form of physical love was condemned as disgraceful—that was less love for God, they said. Still…

His eyes drifted to the demon that slumbered beneath the crumpled bedsheets. Awake, he was gentle, yet in sleep he looked helpless, fragile—beautiful.

Leaning down on his side, Tetsuhiro beheld the demon's sleeping face. Away from that face he brushed a stray piece of hair, most of which had tangled. Was he truly a demon? He held the Devil's Mark, but...he seemed too innocent to truly wish harm upon anyone.

With a groan, Tetsuhiro rubbed his eyes. Since he'd awakened, his head had pounded, and the tips of his fingers pulsed a bit, too. He'd need to keep this secret. More than just his relationship with God would be destroyed, should this be leaked to the other monks.

A soft groan met his ears, and fluttering lids met his eyes. The demon stared at him through tired eyes, and an ache clenched around Tetsuhiro's heart.

"You're up," he murmured. "Did you sleep well?"

Rubbing his eyes, the demon nodded.

"That's, ah...good…" He cleared his throat. "And nothing's...hurting at all?"

A shrug.

"I see...again, very good…" Shaking his pounding head, he sat up in bed. "Was this your first time?"

He mulled over this for a bit, then slowly nodded. Another sensation ached his heart, only this one out of guilt.

"I'm sorry...I practically forced you down...I didn't mean to—"

The demon's lips upon his own ceased his attempts at speech. Tetsuhiro stared at him, stiffened, then softened his disposition and slipped his tongue into Souichi's mouth.

"What in the good Lord's name are you doing?!"

The shout alone yanked Tetsuhiro away from the demon beside him. Standing in the doorway was an elder monk, one of about fifty, with a pallid visage and trembling hands.

"F-Father, I...I…"

"You...you wretched beast!" From beneath his robe he withdrew a bejeweled cross, one specifically designed to battle demonic entities, and he stalked forward. "You dare take this good man of cloth and corrupt his—"

"Don't touch him!" Without thinking, Tetsuhiro balled his fist and struck the elder hard enough to send him to the stone floor. "He did nothing! I was the one who corrupted _him_!"

All in an instant, his rage dissipated into air, and his entire body froze over.

"Shit," he whispered.

A bit of blood dripping from a tiny cut in his cheek, the elder rose shakily from the floor. "We had our doubts about you, you know," he said. "You always seemed reserved, aloof. During sermons, we could see a vacant look in your eye—almost...bored. Unimpressed. Unenthused. And your eagerness to overtake the study of the beast beside you...it all makes sense now." Straightening, he boomed, "You were a _heretic_ all along!"

The saliva from his lips may as well have been acid, considering how deeply it burned his flesh. Heretic...only one fate fell upon those branded as such…

Hellfire.


	8. Chapter 8

The torch was thrown, and almost instantly the kindling sparked to life. A ring of flame engulfed the stake, to which a silver-haired demon was tied. His hands were bound together, then to the stake, then finally again to the rest of his body. He stood nude upon the stake, his Devil's Mark yet again leaking that odd liquid.

From his throat there came a screech, yet not just any screech. No, this was a screech of finality, one so piercing and loud that not a single ounce of blood remained uncurdled. The very sky seemed to split when the sound reached the clouds, and a few birds even dropped out of the air as they attempted to flee from the monastery.

Beside him, in a very similar situation, was the monk-turned-heretic. Again, he stood nude, and a cross between horror and sorrow marked his face. This was all his fault. Everything that had occurred was _his_ fault...why was he so weak? Why in _God's name_ was he so weak to lust?! Souichi was a demon, of course, but...he didn't seem that way. He seemed...wronged. As if he, too, had been lured into sin, only his suffering didn't end as Tetsuhiro's would. No, the wound upon his chest had festered, and that festering tore apart whatever innocence he'd had. Lord...if only they'd met under different circumstances. Maybe then Tetsuhiro could have saved him. Or, at least, he could have gotten him exorcised before it had been too late.

But no. God hadn't had that in mind for them. Then again, when did He ever care about Tetsuhiro? He'd given him an unloving family, He'd sent him here...and He'd made him a heathen.

To Hell with God. At this point, he didn't care.

As the flames grew in height and heat, his form became nothing but a black shadow. The hair of that shadow stood straight up and billowed, and his body seemed to crack. Those cracks spread, and once they all converged upon his Devil's Mark, it split and disappeared completely. Then the flames receded, and there was nothing.

Up to Tetsuhiro walked a monk, a torch in his hand. The heathen drew a deep breath.

He was ready for Hell.


End file.
